Slowly We Exist
by In Dreams
Summary: With Death Eaters running the school, Theodore Nott's seventh year at Hogwarts is worse than any other - much worse. And now that he keeps running into Neville Longbottom, everything's become infinitely more complicated.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's** **Note: **This piece was written for the Fairest of the Rare's Love Fest 2020 as a gift for Frumpologist. I hope you enjoy my take on Theoville! #LF2020 #TeamAphrodite

Alpha love and hearts to Frumpologist, queen of the rare pairs.

**Content Warnings: **Mild canonical wartime violence; implied torture; mature language and themes.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

At the recognisable sounds of crying, Theodore Nott froze. The thought that such a sound had become commonplace in his world made his lip curl and his stomach roll.

On an ordinary day, Theo would have turned and retreated. But it had been a bad day; he had received a passive-aggressive, taunting letter from his father that morning, and Theo's blood was set to boil at the slightest provocation.

When he heard a deeper voice, and a snivelling cackle that set fire to his veins, Theo spun on his heel, gritting his teeth as he shoved past two young Hufflepuffs, tears streaming down their cheeks as one swiped at his nose with his tie.

In mild revulsion, Theo side-stepped the pair and rounded the corner to the next corridor, scowling as Amycus and Alecto Carrow came into his view.

His fingers twitched towards his wand, but he straightened his shoulders and quirked a brow as he came up alongside the sibling scum that had taken over control of Hogwarts. Theo never would have imagined _despising_ school—but that was before the Carrows had moved in.

Presently, the pair had a Gryffindor against the opposite wall, steely determination mixed with the resignation in his battered face. Theo knew the boy, but not well. Neville Longbottom.

"What," he drawled, affecting a casual stance, "are you doing?"

He never would have spoken to a professor with such disrespect—but these two weren't educators in any sense of the word. Amycus Carrow visibly shrunk upon noticing Theo's presence, and he allowed a sneer to drag across his face. Alecto blinked dumbly at her brother.

"Never you mind, Nott," Amycus spat, waving a filthy hand towards Longbottom, whose glare drifted momentarily to Theo. "This one's interferin' with a punishment. Says he's takin' it on 'imself."

Since the Carrows had implemented physical torture as a means of punishment, many of the older students had taken to defending the younger—often at the cost of taking the torture themselves. Theo couldn't see it—but he was predisposed to the Slytherin trait of self-preservation. It didn't surprise him that a rash Gryffindor like Longbottom was so self-sacrificing instead, exacerbated by the fact that Longbottom lifted his chin in defiance.

The man looked as if he'd already been through a wood chopper, but that wasn't unusual these days either.

"Leave it—" Theo scoffed, rolling his eyes. Cracking his neck side to side, he drew his wand into steady fingers. "—To me. I've had a bad day."

The Carrows cowered further, and Amycus offered a hasty nod. "As you wish, Mister Nott."

Theo watched in silence as the pair of them shuffled clumsily away. Honestly, the sort that qualified as Death Eaters made him roll his eyes. To think the Dark Lord had considered _those two_ capable enough to control Hogwarts.

At last, when the Carrows' heavy footfalls died into silence, Theo turned back to face Longbottom, who, to his credit, hadn't attempted to flee during the altercation.

Holding the boy's green stare, Theo twirled his wand between his fingers before stowing it in its holster. He muttered, "Fuck outta here, Longbottom."

Surprise flitted across Longbottom's face but he stood his ground. "What was that all about?"

Glancing away and feeling a flush colour his cheeks, Theo said, "Amycus Carrow shits himself over the thought of my father." Looking back up, he added, "Are you injured?"

Longbottom offered a noncommittal shrug in return. "Not badly." He took a step away from the wall and winced as his ankle gave out.

Rolling his eyes, Theo paced a few steps across the hall and gruffly wrapped an arm around Longbottom's waist; something like cautious relief passed the boy's face before Theo looked away, and he went on. "And his bloody simpering, snivelling, simpleton of a sister does whatever he tells her."

"Nice alliteration," Longbottom mused without missing a beat.

Theo froze; the boy's grip came around to rest on his shoulder; his lips twitched. "Thank you. Fortunately for me, neither of them realise I'm _nothing_ like my father." Longbottom took a cautious step, leaning the bulk of his weight onto Theo's frame. With a careful look around, they advanced down the hall. "I'll get you to the hospital wing and then you're on your own."

Through gritted teeth, Longbottom said, "Why are you doing this? You'll get hell for helping me."

Theo rolled his eyes as he swept a glance around the corner. "Say I was feeling fucking charitable."

Luckily they weren't far from the hospital wing at all, and there weren't any stairs to navigate. If he was honest, he probably _wouldn't_ have offered his assistance otherwise. His power over the Carrows only stemmed from their belief that he was as crazy and ruthless as his father.

And thank Merlin, Theo had always taken after his mother—even though she was gone. Maybe it was because of the so-called mysterious circumstances around her death that he had sought to be so unlike his father.

He wasn't keen on the thought of indulging too much conversation with someone he hardly knew, but no one deserved to be tortured for looking out for children. Most days, Theo wondered at the inherent motivations behind such evil.

"Well, Thanks Nott," Longbottom said with a thick swallow when they made it to the hospital corridor. "You'd better go, so no one sees you."

"Right." Releasing the boy, Theo dragged a hand along the back of his neck. "Fucking watch out for yourself, yeah?"

The returning amusement on Longbottom's face set Theo on edge; he wondered whether this was a regular occurrence, and he'd only just been in the right place at the wrong time in this particular instance. It would certainly explain Longbottom's constantly ratty appearance.

But he muttered, "Yeah. You too, Nott."

Without lingering, Theo swept away.

* * *

Theo blinked as he paced the hallway leading up from the dungeons, his head swivelling and expression carefully neutral.

"The fuck are you doing?" he asked, lifting a brow. "Crabbe? Goyle?"

"Found this Gryffindor scum lurking down the hall," Crabbe said with a malicious grin; the depths of his eyes shone insanity and Theo forced back a shiver.

Waving a hand, Theo gestured to the unconscious seventh year propped between them. He drawled, "What was he doing?"

Goyle shrugged blankly. "Shouldn't have been down here."

Eyeing the boy, whose face and hair were crusted with what Theo could only assume was his own blood, his lip curled with legitimate revulsion. "Well, leave me some fun, then."

"No," Crabbe hissed, folding his arms as Longbottom fell clumsily from his grasp; Goyle fought to retain his hold and Longbottom's dead weight crumpled the rest of the way to the floor with a thud. "We found him."

Clenching his jaw, Theo drew his wand. "I said, leave him for me. I owe this prick a few good hexes."

Everyone present and conscious knew that Theo could easily out-duel them both, and with matching scowls, Crabbe and Goyle gave up their prize, leaving him in a misshapen heap at Theo's feet.

Clicking his tongue several times, he waited until the pair were gone, arms folded as he leaned back against the stone wall. At last he cast a reviving spell, and Longbottom leapt to his feet with surprising dexterity for the look of him, his stance tense and expression guarded.

Theo rolled his eyes and said, "We have got to stop meeting like this."

"Nott?" Longbottom asked, his eyes darting rapidly the length of the corridor. "Where are the other two?"

"Gone," Theo replied, amusement leaking into his tone as he added a low, "you're stuck with me instead."

For a moment, Theo's gaze caught on the way Longbottom's ears went red, before the boy said, "What do you mean, gone?"

Honestly, he was daft. Theo leaned back against the stone wall, folding his arms across his chest. "I mean I saved your sodding arse—again."

Longbottom's jaw tightened. Finally he bit out, "Thanks." Stiffly, he extended a hand; after a moment, Theo accepted the offering, giving Longbottom's hand a shake.

But he couldn't stop a mirthful laugh from bubbling forth when Longbottom announced, "Neville Longbottom."

"I know your bloody name." Shaking his head, Theo extracted his hand from Longbottom's firm grip. At the boy's lifted brow, Theo felt oddly chastened and his expression sobered. Quietly, he added, "Theo Nott."

Casting a quick glance down the hallway, Longbottom pressed the tips of his fingers to a gash above his eyebrow that had clotted over with a wince. "Theo Nott. That's twice you've stepped in to help me when you didn't need to. I won't forget it."

The boy offered Theo a sort of crooked half-smile, and he found his mouth go dry at the sincerity of the gesture. "Right," he murmured, dragging a hand across the back of his neck. For some reason, Longbottom's gratitude left him feeling disarmed. "Can't say I'm crazy for the idea of students being tortured and all that. You know."

Something genuine and tinged with desperation haunted Longbottom's green stare. "Yeah. I know."

Ducking his chin with a nod, Theo slid his hands into his trouser pockets. "You'd better get out of here. Not really safe for Gryffindors to be in the dungeons with that lot on patrol all the time."

Delicately, Longbottom said, "Noted," with a flicker of his brows. Theo couldn't help the hint of a snicker that broke free. Holding his stare for a moment longer, the boy murmured, "Later, Theo."

As Longbottom rounded the corner, Theo mused under his breath, "Look after yourself, Nev."

* * *

It was weeks before Theo ran into Neville Longbottom again. Slytherin and Gryffindor sat a handful of classes together, and it was evident the boy wasn't keeping his nose out of trouble because he routinely showed up to classes with fresh cuts and bruises.

Idly, Theo found himself wondering why he continued to put his own wellbeing behind others. With a flash of irritation, he considered the thought that he'd been putting his own arse on the line trying to help.

It was a discrepancy in fundamental beliefs, he supposed—or was it just a matter of opposing perspectives from different sides? Maybe Theo couldn't put himself in Neville's shoes because he'd never been forced to to make such a decision.

No matter the logic behind it, Theo thought he was unquestionably brave. And every so often he couldn't keep his eyes from drifting across the room when they had class together, or in the Great Hall at mealtimes, wondering at the brightness in Neville's eyes and the perpetual grin on his face.

Merlin knew, if Theo was getting his arse pummelled on a regular basis—both physically and magically—he wouldn't be so upbeat.

Sometimes, for a fleeting instant, Longbottom would glance up at just the right moment and catch Theo's stare. Invariably, his expression would shift, and something would pass between them that Theo didn't dare name.

* * *

By mid-winter, it wasn't uncommon to find students passed out in empty classrooms or infrequently used corridors. Sometimes, according to the whispers that chased the hallways, older students would be found in a pool of their own blood.

It was a dreadful thing to consider, and Theo felt a shiver often creep along his spine when he walked alone at night, even though he knew he had nothing to fear from the other Slytherins or the Carrows themselves. He couldn't help but think of the students who lived in constant fear of being caught at the wrong time, doing something that would have otherwise been considered innocuous.

Because Merlin knew, the Carrows were doling out punishments for anything they could think up. And Snape certainly wasn't doing anything to discourage it.

No one was going out of their way to stir up trouble. In fact, the corridors were often stifling in the thick, loaded silence that hung in the gaps. Students rushed between classes, shoulders slumped and heads down. Often, students in the other houses keenly avoided meeting Theo's gaze, as if he were going to draw his wand on them for such an affront.

Even the portraits minded their own business; many had vanished from their Hogwarts frames altogether, unwilling to watch the senseless violence any longer.

Theo wished he could vanish.

The letters from his father had become more frequent, urging him to arrange a date to receive his Dark Mark. He would sooner cut off his own arm with a dull knife and ingest it one swallow at a time.

Every one of the letters remained, unanswered, in a stack at the bottom of his trunk, only because he didn't dare burn or otherwise desecrate them in case the parchment had been hexed against such a thing. It was something his father would do.

Presently, the hallways were already dark with only the vague flicker of torches, curfew growing near, and Theo found himself speeding up his pace in an effort to return to the relative peace and safety of the Slytherin dorms lest he stumble across anything untoward going on.

Rounding a corner on the seventh floor, Theo tripped over something cumbersome on the ground, nearly falling face first into the wall before he got his hands up to steady himself against the stone. With an uncomfortable lurch in his stomach, he froze, his heart stuttering.

Cautiously, he lit his wandtip and glanced towards the ground with a hissed, "Fuck!"

For a flicker of an instant, he considered carrying on, but just as soon as it had come, the thought vanished. Theo wasn't like them. He wasn't like them, and he wasn't willing to leave an injured student to bleed out.

Because he could feel something sticky leaking through the canvas toes of his trainers.

Crouching down, he swept his fringe back from his eyes, waving his wand across the student's face, and his lips thinned into a hard line.

"Seriously, Longbottom," he groaned aloud, pressing his eyes shut for a long moment. He gave a shove to the boy's unconscious form, and something unintelligible was thrown his way. Frustration welling within him at the situation, he rose to his feet and announced, "I'm not carrying you to the hospital wing so you'd better fucking get up."

He couldn't quell the anxious racing of his heart.

Longbottom growled, shifting slightly, and one eye blinked open. Theo realised with a churning in his gut that the other was swollen shut.

Folding his arms, he did his best to steel his countenance, and asked, "Who the fuck did this?"

With significant effort, Longbottom attempted to push off the ground, and Theo ducked down again to help him lean back against the wall. Spitting blood onto the ground, Neville said, "Carrow."

Slowly shaking his head, Theo felt his upper lip curl. "Fucking _bastard_. Why do you continue to put yourself in these situations, you tosser."

Despite the situation, and that the boy was half unrecognisable due to the blood and swelling, a wry grin spread across his face. "Because," he muttered, "we can't let them think they've taken our hope."

Huffing a breath through his nose, Theo met Neville's stare. "Spoken like a true Gryffindor alright. What am I going to do with you? There's no way I won't get seen hauling you all the way down to the hospital wing. I know some basic healing spells but…"

Neville slumped a little against the wall, his eyelids fluttering. "There's a room the next hallway down. I think I can walk there."

Confusion knit a furrow between his brows, but Theo rose to his feet, helping Neville up, and absently, he wondered if the boy had gone mad. There weren't any rooms in the next hallway that could help him, but they had to walk that way anyways to the nearest staircase. Offering Neville an arm for support, he slowly led the pair of them in the direction Neville had indicated.

"Wait," Neville bit out through a grimace. "Here."

Theo halted, frowning, as he cast a sidelong glance at his companion.

"Just…" Sweeping a hand through his hair, the boy cracked a grin. "Have some faith, alright? And don't you dare tell anyone about this."

Neville released him, and hobbled unsteadily back and forth in front of a bare stretch of wall. As Theo rolled his eyes, about to make a remark, an arched doorway appeared in the stone. With a raised brow, Neville turned back towards him.

Under his breath, Theo muttered, "What the fuck," before following the other boy into the room that had materialised.

As soon as his gaze swept the interior of the room, Theo froze for a moment, before spinning back to see the door close behind them. Gaping, he turned towards Longbottom. "The fuck is this? Has this always been here?"

Before them was a small medical laboratory, complete with a sink, a potions cabinet, and shelving filled with assorted medical supplies.

Peering at himself in a mirror over the pedestal sink, Neville said, "It's called the Room of Requirement. It'll become whatever you need it to be."

"Shite!" Theo exclaimed, forgetting himself and his company for a moment as his mouth hung open. "I've heard of this—always thought it was a myth."

Glancing at Theo, Neville flashed a crooked grin. "It isn't a myth."

Settling back against the wall, possibilities racing through his mind with the newfound knowledge, Theo folded his arms. "Do you need help?"

"Don't think so," Neville said, rummaging through the potions cabinet and selecting several vials. He tossed one back in a quick swig followed by a grimace. "You don't need to stay if you need to get back to your dorm. I don't know how long I was out but I imagine it's close to curfew. I think most of these wounds are superficial."

Theo didn't say anything as he watched Longbottom pick through the supplies, dabbing at the cuts on his face with a wet cloth. He was given the impression this wasn't the first time Longbottom had utilised the room as such.

He merely settled into a straight-backed chair against the wall, watching. "Do you come here often? To escape?"

Expression guarded, he waited for a response, uncertain why he had even asked. They didn't really know one another, and Theo didn't know that Longbottom wouldn't use anything he said against him. Aside from the fact that this was the third time he'd saved the problematic Gryffindor's arse, and quite frankly, it would be a shite thing to do.

Neville froze, eyes swivelling from the mirror to meet his. "Yeah. We've been coming here for years."

It was more of an answer than Theo had expected, and he nodded absently. "Makes sense."

He could feel the boy's stare on him through the reflection in the mirror as he meticulously cleaned the blood from his wounds, and Theo glanced around, feeling on edge. At last Longbottom said, "You aren't like the rest of the Slytherins."

"Observant," Theo quipped, though he felt relief at the words. "My father's always tried so hard to make me into himself—and I think it only accomplished the opposite."

A tense beat. "And your mother?"

"Dead."

"Sorry to hear." Neville's mouth twisted to the side as Theo watched him in the mirror.

Theo gave a bit of a shrug. "I was six. I sort of remember her, but not that well. Wish she was still around, though. Your parents?"

A long silence hung between them, though the boy's expression gave nothing away as he ran the towel under the water; from his vantage point Theo could just see the blood mingle and dilute in the water swirling within the basin. Pure blood, as far as Theo was aware. The entire situation was so fucking convoluted.

At last Longbottom cleared his throat. "They're at St Mungo's. In the closed ward."

Theo managed a thick swallow, rising to his feet for something to do as he leaned against the wall near the sink. The implications of it rattled around his brain and he sought out the boy's stare with a furrow in his brow. "Honestly? That's fucked. How?"

"Cruciatus," Neville said, the word clipped and clinical. "Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Fucking Bellatrix," Theo said through ground teeth. He knew enough about the woman to wish for her to see a shallow grave sooner than later. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Neville ducked his chin with a nod of acknowledgement, wringing out the wet cloth. "My gran raised me, mostly."

For a moment, Theo could only shake his head. Then without warning, Longbottom tugged his bloodstained shirt over his head and tossed it into a laundry basket that materialised on the floor. Theo's stomach rolled at the mottled purple of fresh bruising combined with the rusty red of dried blood along the taut skin of his chest and abdomen.

Even as his mouth went dry at the sight, and his next breath caught in his throat.

Thankfully Longbottom didn't notice his reaction as he peered closer at himself in the mirror, his lips pulled into a grimace.

Clearly, the punishment had been physical as well; the torture curse didn't leave those sorts of wounds.

Quietly, Theo asked, "How can you continue to put yourself in front of the Carrows' wands knowing what that fucking curse can do?"

Neville's chin dropped as he placed a hand on the edge of the sink, as if to hold himself up. He sucked in a long breath before his head turned towards Theo. His brows flickered, his expression uncertain. "All I know is that my parents wouldn't have stood by and allowed these things to happen." His voice dropped, intonation heavy with emotion, and he added, "I just _can't_ turn a blind eye."

Theo's throat felt thick and warm, his eyes hot with the sting of moisture. He felt a sort of kinship with the other boy he never could have explained as he dropped his head back against the wall, forcing the moisture back with a series of rapid blinks. He breathed, "This needs to end."

"You're right," Longbottom said, loosening the buckle of his belt. Theo's eyes widened momentarily, before he noticed an enclosed shower stall had appeared along the next wall of the small room. Against his volition, his eyes flickered to where Neville's trousers were slung on his hips. Divesting himself of the trousers, Neville added, as if it were necessary, "Too much blood. I'll just take a quick shower."

"Right," Theo managed, his eyes drifting to the curve of Neville's arse when he turned around. When he forced his gaze up just in time to avoid being caught ogling, he noticed a dull flush on the other boy's cheeks. "I'll just—" Theo turned on the spot, staring at the wall, his own face burning.

Moments later, at the telltale sounds of running water, Theo released the tension in his shoulders, sinking back into the armchair by the wall. He should go, and leave Neville to his showering and his nudity in peace. By all rights, Theo had no reason to linger, when curfew was probably already past, and clearly Neville didn't need his help.

He leapt to his feet, pacing the small space, before sinking back into the seat. Thick steam emanated from the shower stall, warming the room, and Theo idly looked around. He rose again, sorting through the supplies in the shelving unit.

Even when the water cut off, Theo didn't dare turn around, organising the vials in the potions cabinet. When he felt Neville's presence at his side, he proffered a jar of bruise ointment, eyes sliding sidelong to meet the wry grin of the boy.

"Thanks," Neville quipped, brandishing the jar. His lips were parted as he stared at Theo for an extended moment. "I've run out anyways."

With a stiff nod, Theo retreated to the adjacent wall once more; Neville had donned fresh shorts and trousers, but without a belt, and his trousers sunk a little lower than the waistband of his pants.

He felt lousy for looking, but having washed off all the crusted blood, Neville had a fit body, even through the stark bruising. Idly, Theo tried to recall Neville as the awkward boy he had been years before, and couldn't do it.

Deliberately staring around the room, he did his best to ignore the way Neville slathered the ointment onto his chest, biting down hard on his tongue to keep from saying anything.

With the lingering steam, the room was unbearably hot, and Theo loosened his Slytherin tie. Neville's eyes snapped up to meet his through the reflection in the mirror once more. Setting the jar down, he said, "Thanks for staying, but you didn't need to."

"Yeah," Theo drawled in his best effort at nonchalance. "Suppose I'd better get to the dorms."

Despite the situation and his own brain buzzing with awkward, unnecessary thoughts, Theo couldn't help but marvel at the magic of the room, as Neville shrugged on a fresh shirt that he'd found apparently out of nowhere. Belatedly, Theo rose from his seat just as Neville turned on the spot, nearly walking into him.

Lifting his hands to avoid a collision, Neville caught Theo's arms, his eyes wide as he muttered a hasty, "Sorry about that."

"It's fine," Theo bit out. The room was too warm and he was late back to the dorms and he made towards the door, only for Neville to follow, pocketing the jar of ointment.

Neville paused beside the door, turning towards Theo. "Thanks, again. For your help."

"Of course," Theo said, a frown tugging at his lips. "It's all rubbish, anyways."

"I come here a lot," Neville blurted, his expression bewildered as if he'd caught himself off guard. "Not _this_ version of the room, but another, if you're ever… bored. In the evenings."

For a long, silent moment, Theo merely blinked at him. Then he managed a stiff nod. "I suppose I could come by sometime."

"You just have to…" Neville pantomimed a pair of legs walking with his index and middle finger; Theo snickered. "Three times, and think of what you need to find."

With another somber nod, Theo mimicked the motion with his own fingers. "I will." He swung the door open, shifting out of the way, before adding, "Get back safe, yeah?"

"Yeah." Neville's fingers curled around his shoulder in a brief squeeze. "Thanks, Nott."

They left the room, and as he paused in the hallway to watch Neville head for Gryffindor Tower, Theo carded an anxious hand through his hair with a barely there, "_Fuck_."

* * *

For days, Theo picked apart Neville's offer, toying with it in his mind and ultimately setting it aside each time. Were they friends? Theo didn't have very many friends, but he always saw Neville with Finnigan and a few others from different houses. Maybe Neville felt isolated, given so many of his yearmates were gone. Potter, Weasley, and Granger were off doing something; no one knew. Thomas was gone.

More than once, it occurred to Theo he had taken to watching the boy with far too much intent, and he tried to tell himself it had nothing to do with the last time they'd interacted.

He had known for a few years he was more interested in the male sex than the female, but even if he hadn't, the other night would have confirmed it. Not that it was something he could ever reveal to his father, who was as outdated and backwards thinking as he was maliciously cruel.

Theo was to marry a pureblood princess, produce at least one male heir, and treat his bride like shite. He had no interest in any of it.

And it certainly wasn't something he intended to reveal to Neville, even if the pair of them were to become friends. Which was insane on another level, because they were Slytherin and Gryffindor. The dissonance rode deeper into the fact that Theo's father was a Death Eater and Neville was most assuredly in the Order of the Phoenix.

For all Theo knew, he was in contact with Harry Potter. It would certainly explain his incredible resilience. Theo didn't know if he would still have the will to fight back, if the tables were turned.

Almost without realising it, he had grown to admire the boy, if for no reason other than the fact that they were so wildly contrasting, in personality and motive.

But the part that mattered most—and Theo found himself hoping Neville would agree—was that they shared a mutual opinion on the war, and the goings on in the castle.

For almost a week, he found himself toying with the idea of visiting Neville in the Room of Requirement. Felt his eyes drift towards the boy with increased regularity, and more often than was safe or reasonable, found himself longing for the sort of open honesty with which they had connected the last time.

It was irrational, and maybe he was taunting the beast, but Theo wanted to see him again. And _not_ in a bloody heap on the cold stone floor.

So by the time the _Evening Prophet_ arrived on Friday at dinner, news of death and misery splashed as ever across its front page—as Theo fought the push of hopeless moisture at the backs of his eyes—he found himself seeking out Neville's bright gaze across the Great Hall.

Minutely enough that Theo might have missed it, had Neville not fixed in on his stare in return, his lips twisted to the side, and he gave a nod.

A breath of relief chased from Theo's lungs as he gathered his things and swept from the hall.

* * *

Hands shoved firmly in his pockets, Theo sidled into the Room of Requirement, casting a look around. The room had fully transformed from the last time he had seen it; plush armchairs and a sofa surrounded a crackling hearth, bookshelves lined the walls, and a large eight-seater table sat on the far side of the room.

It appeared like Theo had always imagined the Gryffindor common room might look, only there was no specific colour scheme. If anything, it looked an eclectic combination of colours and patterns that all contrasted and yet somehow worked.

Most of all, the room spoke of comfort.

The warmth of the fire seeped into Theo's wrought soul as he stepped cautiously into the room, finding Neville already in an armchair by the fire, a furrow in his brow and a look of contemplation on his face. The setting felt oddly intimate and for a moment, he considered bolting. But Neville glanced up, a hint of a smile spreading across his face.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Theo returned a nod, slipping into a seat and sinking deep into the cushions. "Hey. Funny seeing you not covered in your own blood."

"I'll imagine it is." Neville seemed more introspective than Theo had ever seen him, when the boy had always come across insistently optimistic, even through physical torture. Idly, he wondered if he were intruding, and perhaps Neville hadn't wanted him to come by that evening. But at dinner, he had seemed receptive.

As Theo frowned, interlocking his hands across his middle, Neville's countenance visibly lightened, and he added, "So this is where we usually spend time. When things are bad."

Although curiosity prickled at his skin as to who else Neville referred, Theo nodded and mused, "How does it work, exactly? Can the room fulfill multiple uses at once?"

"Only one." Neville gave a brisk shake of the head. "If someone needed the medical room, for instance, where we were the other day—they would have to first come in _here_ and ask us to vacate. Then the room would be able to transform upon re-entry."

Humming, Theo glanced around, leaning forward in his seat. For whatever reason, being around Neville made him oddly fidgety when he usually was not. "It's fascinating."

"It is." He could feel Neville's stare on him, but gazed into the fire. "We started using it in our fifth year, when Umbridge was in charge, and Harry decided to teach us some more proactive defense spells."

Slowly, cautiously, Theo glanced at Neville, finding a challenge in his eyes. Swallowing, he breathed, "You can trust me. I'm not… like them."

"I know you aren't," Neville said, ducking his chin. "But your father is."

He couldn't deny the fact, and only offered a grimace in turn. "Have you lot heard from Potter at all?"

"No." The moment having passed, Neville sank into his seat once more. "We haven't had any contact with those three since the summer. But whatever it is they're doing is important. _Really_ important."

Theo sensed the words left unsaid. "And you'd know if they were dead."

"Yeah." The word left Neville's lungs in a huff of a breath, and he glanced Theo's direction. Then he offered a bit of a shrug with a wry twitch of his lips. "Feels helpless, a lot of the time. All we can really do here is show that we stand with Harry and make things harder for the Death Eaters. Unfortunately, things here at Hogwarts have been growing worse—as I know you've seen. Some of our group have taken to hiding out here rather than return to the dorms."

Hoarsely, Theo asked, "Why are you telling me all this?"

A long moment of silence hung between them as Neville's green eyes caught his again, their depths sparkling with the reflection of the flames in the grate. At last he said, "You said I could trust you. And I believe you."

Shaking his head, Theo went on, his mouth dry. "I can't help you. I just—there's nothing I can do."

"I'm not asking for your help."

With a sigh, some of the tension seeped from Theo and he twisted his lips to the side, rolling his face along the back of his armchair.

But Neville looked away, digging for something in his pocket. He leaned forward, pressing a small round object into Theo's palm. Blinking, Theo assessed it; it appeared to be a galleon. "What are you paying me for?"

With a bark of laughter, that crooked grin spread across Neville's face that put a flutter in Theo's chest. "It isn't a real galleon, see?" He brandished another in his own hand, and tapped it with his wand. The galleon in Theo's hand warmed for a moment, and then across its face, a tidy inscription read, _Hello_.

Shrugging, Neville leaned back in his seat as Theo peered closer at the coin. "Just in case you ever need to reach me. Just tap the coin, think of your message, and the recipient. _Or_, if for some reason you ever need to reach the network of coins, just think of that instead."

"Noted," Theo said carefully, feeling as if he were suddenly involved in something beyond his depth. But he tucked it away all the same, just in case, before adding, "_You_ had better use it if you're in trouble. I don't want to stumble across your half-dead body again."

Snickering, Neville huffed out, "Deal."

Peering across the expanse of the room, Theo asked, "Are there usually more people here?"

"Sometimes," Neville said with a nod. "If the Death Eaters are having a bad day. We can usually tell pretty early on."

The boy had a blunt honesty about him that left Theo both unnerved and anxious.

"It changes, too, if we have need of something," Neville said with a nod towards the far wall; a small kitchenette materialised. "The only thing it can't create is food, but the house-elves have been helpful on that front when we've been in need."

"Well," Theo said quietly, leaning forward in his seat again, "I'm glad you have a safe place to go when you need it."

Neville held his stare for a long time; so long that Theo's heart leapt to life in his chest and his mouth went dry. At last he offered a bit of a nod, and said, "Thanks, Theo." He glanced away, and with a nod across the room, asked, "Want to play some cards?"

A genuine smile tugged at Theo's lips. "That sounds great."


	2. Chapter 2

Over the weeks that followed, Theo's life shifted in a way that seemed subtle at first, but when he looked closer, it was drastic. Every so often, Neville would send him a message to see if he was free—and if Theo was feeling so inclined, he would do so likewise.

They rarely spoke of things with much depth, but Theo was relieved for the distraction of it. They would talk and laugh; sometimes they would study or play cards. Once, Neville had seemed particularly gloomy, and as soon as Theo arrived he had planted a bottle of Firewhisky on the table between them. Surprised, Theo's lips had twitched in response, and the pair of them drank to the point where Theo barely stumbled back to the Slytherin dorms in time for curfew.

Neville kept a few potted plants in the room, and sometimes he cared for them while Theo studied or read.

He had begun to live for the warmth of that coin in his pocket.

Neville was the first true friend he'd found since childhood, when the rest of his dormmates were often self-serving and he rarely knew who he could trust.

Every so often, his galleon warmed in his pocket, and with a carefully blank expression, he peeked at the message, only to find it was a warning from someone else sent to the network of coins, and not from Neville at all.

Those messages always buried an uneasy churning in Theo's gut, when there was usually nothing he could do to help. At the least, it explained why Neville always wound up at the scene of trouble—but Theo wasn't sure whether that made him feel any better about it.

He always sported new injuries each time they saw one another, and Theo frequently bit back on the desire to say anything about it. It wasn't his place, and Neville was doing what he thought was right.

One evening, a message arrived on his coin that read only _Carrows on a rampage. Second floor by the courtyard. _

Swallowing, Theo pocketed his coin again, making a futile effort to return to the book he'd been reading in the Slytherin common room.

But then moments later, another message warmed against his leg. _On my way - NL_

Grimacing, Theo stowed the coin in his pocket, ignoring it as it warmed with additional responses, until finally he shoved the book onto a nearby shelf and retreated from the common room.

It was already nearing curfew, and as he stared down the empty dungeon corridor, cursing himself all the while, he made for the second floor. Heart racing, Theo approached the indicated location with caution, but by the time he arrived he heard only distant voices.

Eyes tightening in the growing darkness, he scoured the next hallway for any signs of trouble, and was relieved to spot Neville talking to a boy from Ravenclaw who Theo recognised but didn't personally know. As he made to duck back around the corner so they wouldn't see him, Neville's attention was drawn in his direction before he could escape.

Theo plastered himself against the wall, and held his breath when he heard quiet footsteps coming towards him. He hadn't met any of Neville's other friends, or anyone else in the network of coins—it would only make things more convoluted the more involved he was.

But it was Neville's face that came around the corner, a sparkle in his eye and a curl to his lips. In a teasing tone that sent a shiver down Theo's spine, the boy said, "Don't tell me you came all the way up here to check on me."

Straightening his tie, Theo scowled at the floor. "Maybe."

With a click of his tongue and a vague gesture towards himself, Neville grinned. "I'm fine. The Carrows ran off when a group of us converged. They don't like dealing with too many of us at once."

A smile of relief spread across Theo's face and he mused, "Good news. I'm glad I don't need to drag your wrecked arse to the hospital tonight."

"Same here." Neville's smile softened and he snickered a breath.

The pair of them began back down the corridor, unhurried, when Theo froze, catching Neville's stare at the sound of approaching voices. Listening carefully for a moment, he detected the atrocious snivelling laughter of Alecto Carrow, and hissed, "Shite!"

The Carrows were close by the sounds of it, and the two of them were in the middle of an open hallway. Frowning, Neville glanced around them, before grabbing Theo gruffly around the collar and dragging him towards a tapestry hanging nearby on the wall.

Before he could so much as brace himself, Theo found himself in a small, dark alcove, barely wide enough for the pair of them. A breath chased from his lungs as his eyes slid up to find Neville's.

As the voices neared closer, Theo was careful to keep still and silent with his back to the wall, Neville statuesque with barely a sliver of space between them.

The alcove was so narrow that when he drew in a deep breath, attempting to steady the racing of his heart, his chest brushed against Neville's; colour flared in his cheeks and he was thankful for the dark. He could only just make out the features of Neville's face as his eyes adjusted to the scarce lighting from the hallway through the cracks around the thick tapestry.

With an uneasy grimace, Neville's eyes met his. They could still hear the Carrows' voices beyond, and Theo was warm beyond measure, his skin tingling with the feel of Neville pressed practically against him.

They were virtually the same height and he watched as Neville's lips pressed into a line, his throat bobbing with a swallow. Theo's own lips parted as he drew in a breath, flustered and anxious. Neville's gaze dropped, just so, to his mouth. His chest brushed against Theo's, the sides of their trainers nudging, and when Theo shifted, his hand brushed against Neville's hip with a flare of heat creeping up his neck and face.

Theo's heart was racing with such ferocity he wondered if Neville could hear it, silent as they were. He could taste the spearmint on his breath.

No longer could he hear voices in the corridor; but Theo couldn't move, fixated and trapped as he was, as Neville's eyes once more lifted to his.

Theo breathed, "Nev—"

The gap between them vanished. Neville's lips were on his, and Theo threaded his fingers into Neville's hair, his eyes sliding shut as a soft groan escaped against the other boy's mouth. Assertive fingers curled around his hip, holding him against the wall as Neville's chest pushed against him, lips pressing with more insistence.

Theo swept his tongue out, teasing the seam of Neville's lips, and as the kiss deepened he pitched forward, coiling a possessive hand around the back of his neck.

Neville drew back with a bite to Theo's bottom lip, his green eyes blinking open.

For a long moment, they only stared at one another, chests heaving and eyes wide.

Finally Theo clicked his tongue and muttered, "So…"

"Yeah." Neville glanced away, and in the dim lighting, Theo could see his cheeks were flushed, too.

"I guess," Theo breathed, cautious, "I didn't realise you were—"

Dragging a hand across the back of his neck, Neville said, "I suspected. About you."

"Well," Theo huffed, a tentative smile tugging at his lips, "good, then."

"Yeah." Neville snickered, his lips brushing against Theo's once more. "Good."

Idly taking Neville's hand into his, mind whirring and heart rate slowing, Theo watched as Neville slid the edge of the tapestry out of the way, peering out into the hallway. Returning to the alcove, he said, "I think it's clear. But we've passed curfew now, so…"

"So mind yourself," Theo finished, a grin crossing his face as they stared at one another. There was a brightness in Neville's eyes and he interlaced their fingers. Wrapping their joined hands around Neville's neck, Theo drew him closer once more, their lips finding one another's a little clumsily before settling back into another prolonged kiss, this one slower and softer.

At last Theo pulled back, resting his temple against Neville's, and breathed, "Get back safe. Send a message to my coin?"

"I will," Neville affirmed, finally extracting his hand from Theo's. His lips twitched with a smile and he ducked out of the alcove, leaving Theo alone with a lazy grin dragging across his face.

He remained alone in the alcove, replaying the occurrences of the past half an hour until the warming of his galleon brought him back to the present with Neville's message. Carefully, he made his way back to the Slytherin dorms and drifted to sleep that night with a smile on his face and a secret in his heart.

* * *

The days and weeks that followed were challenging, both mentally and emotionally, and Theo found himself longing for the relative peace that earlier days had offered.

As March crept into April, the days rolling and tumbling at an inconsistent speed, the situation at Hogwarts worsened exponentially.

Days passed where Theo didn't see Neville at all, not even in classes, but he didn't dare enter the Room of Requirement when there were bound to be others there.

Anyone who knew about his dissension was an additional complication—and while Theo longed to see Neville, he knew it was safer for him to be with the rest of them than to be stirring problems with the Carrows, who were increasingly agitated by the day.

They had only seen one another in passing since the night they'd kissed behind the tapestry, and Theo was left with dissipating memories of the way Neville's lips had felt on his; the way they'd touched one another, tentative but desirous.

Every so often, his coin warmed in his pocket, and in a roundabout way it kept Theo informed of what was going on beyond that stone archway, even though he didn't dare breach it himself. And Neville's messages were frequent enough that he knew the other boy was thinking about him as well.

Idly, Theo found himself wondering at how the Room of Requirement had evolved to accommodate them all.

He knew Neville would never ask him to retreat into the room with the rest of them; it would be all but admitting his disloyalty to his father. To the Carrows, and to Snape—to the others lurking at the exits—and the rest felt oddly irrelevant outside of the bubble that was Hogwarts.

Even though the real war was going on beyond the stone turrets.

He knew the best way he could help Neville was to keep him informed of what was going on from his perspective. Some days Neville and his friends would be in classes and at meals, but others they would vanish. Mostly it was dependent on the climate with the Death Eaters, which was terrible more often than not.

The rest was relegated to secretive meetings late at night, hushed conversations, and clandestine kisses in dark corners.

While his heart ached for the situation, and he desperately wished for things to be different, Theo couldn't shake the feeling that he had his own part to play. Neville's world wasn't his, and try though he might to deny the matter, they could never be together openly. Not while the situation remained as volatile as it was.

But everything felt on the edge of a dangerous precipice, as if nothing could remain for much longer without crumbling one way or the other.

As Theo pushed through one dark day after the next, feeling the growing despair in his soul as it threatened to swallow him whole, he could only wish to whoever was possibly listening that things would play out as he desperately desired them to.

* * *

He could feel it in his bones, that Neville's resilience, his unbreakable spirit, was beginning to wane at last. With each message Theo received, and with the darkness that crept still further into his heart, he felt himself grow increasingly desperate for some semblance of good news.

News had circled the castle around Easter that Harry Potter and his friends had nearly been captured at Malfoy Manor. They had escaped, but just barely, according to the whispers. According to Neville, his friend Luna, a Ravenclaw girl whom Theo couldn't picture, had also broken free—but even as he shared the story, his spirits weren't as lifted as Theo might have hoped.

Many younger students had been pulled from Hogwarts, and education as a whole had devolved to the point where almost no one bothered attending classes regularly. While many of the professors put on a brave face, their curriculum had been stifled to the point where most of the time, students would simply copy notes from textbooks or practice the same irrelevant spells they already knew. The Carrows' own classes—Dark Arts and Muggle Studies—were a separate sort of torture, and Theo found himself dreading those the most.

Theo longed to break free from the castle, but his father never would have allowed it. Not when he was in support of Snape and the Carrows running—and ruining—the magical education that Theo had sought and coveted for so many years.

But while he wanted to run and never look back, he knew he wouldn't leave Neville behind.

Because their meetings, isolated and infrequent though they were, kept the faint shred of hope in Theo's heart alive.

And to see Neville wavering was equivalent to the nail in the coffin.

_Meet me tonight_.

As the words faded from his coin, clenched tightly in his palm, Theo waited, his heart hammering in his chest and mouth dry. He sat cross-legged on his bed in the seventh year boys' dormitory, the hangings drawn and silenced. He had no desire to see any of his yearmates or housemates who still remained.

A few minutes passed without a response. Theo set his coin on the comforter in front of him, keeping one eye on the gold face as he attempted to read a book. After twenty minutes he sighed, marking his page and setting the book aside.

He longed for the easy times with Neville, alone in the Room of Requirement. Things had felt dire back then, but now Theo found himself looking back with a grimace. Now, things were so much worse.

Most of the younger students didn't do anything other than hide out in their dormitories, but punishments for any missteps were increasingly severe. The Carrows had never dared lift their wands on Theo or a few other select Slytherin seventh years, but it didn't make him feel any better about the situation.

According to Neville, the house-elves were beside themselves trying to keep every student fed, when so few dared venture to the Great Hall at mealtimes anymore.

Theo picked up his coin, attempting to keep a spike of hope from invading his chest, and pressed his lips into a thin line to see he had received no response. He lifted his wand to send another message, to desperately seek a response, for some sign that Neville was still alive. They hadn't met in person in over a week.

The mass messages to the network of coins had dwindled as well, because everyone that would have been sending them were more often together in the Room of Requirement, and could coordinate from there.

Which left Theo feeling like an outsider who didn't belong in either faction. His true loyalties as he felt them in his heart were to Neville and his friends, and not a day passed when Theo didn't wonder at what Potter and his friends were doing, and whether they might miraculously pull through.

But hope was a dangerous weapon, and Theo didn't dare drop his guard.

As each day passed and worsened further than he even could have anticipated, he debated throwing it all away and joining Neville's friends in the Room. But he knew the wrath of his father, and there was no way Theo would walk away alive from such a betrayal. The irony of the situation was that, while Neville was safe hidden away in the Room of Requirement, Theo was safe only so long as he remained outside, acting his part in the castle. Growing up with his father, Theo had learned how to keep his true feelings hidden.

Increasingly, every day, he wondered at the cost.

Whether this existence was even worth living.

Yet, Neville needed the information he could provide.

Again, the sparkle in Neville's green eyes flashed through his mind and Theo gritted his teeth, clenching his coin into his palm once more.

He blinked, surprised, as the coin warmed in that moment. With a choked breath of relief, he turned it over, eyes scanning the brief message.

_Half an hour_.

A tight breath chased from his lungs, and despite everything else, Theo felt a grin split his cheeks. His brief moments with Neville, while never long enough, were the only bright spots on an otherwise dark horizon.

His only hope was that April was almost at its end, and in a little under two months, they would be free. Although, given the way the school was barely functional, Theo didn't even know whether they would be sitting their NEWTs in June. At this point, he didn't even care.

If the world crumbled at the wandtip of a madman, there would be no use for educational accolades.

After fifteen minutes of fidgeting and staring at his watch, Theo leapt to his feet and left the dungeons, ignoring the small handful of people in the common room.

While they could no longer meet in the Room of Requirement, Theo and Neville had commandeered an abandoned classroom on the seventh floor, and Theo had enchanted it with as many wards as he knew. It was close enough that Neville could sneak there without being found out—although Theo didn't know what he told the rest of them.

The walk up from the dungeons was a more effective way to pass time, and when Theo arrived in the classroom, Neville was already there. The slow smile that stretched across his lips was a soothing balm to the ache in Theo's soul and with a long exhale, he took up a seat atop one of the workbenches beside Neville with a soft, "Hi."

"Hi." Neville's lips twitched before he ducked in, pressing a kiss to Theo's mouth. "It's good to see you."

"And you." Allowing his gaze to sweep across Neville's face, he frowned; he still wore as many scrapes and bruises as Theo had ever seen, and wondered whether they had run out of medical supplies. "You look terrible."

Neville offered a grimace, sweeping a hand through his hair. "Gran's on the run, Theo. They went after her because of the trouble we've been causing here."

A breath hitched in Theo's throat and he opened his mouth to speak when Neville raised a hand and went on. "She's okay—managed to get me a letter." A wry grin pulled at his mouth. "Said she's proud of me. But if they can't get at me through her… I don't know, Theo. I think I've officially become disposable."

Steeling himself, Theo nodded. "Then it isn't safe to leave the room. Are you sure the Death Eaters can't get in?"

"I'm sure."

For a long moment, Theo stared at him, feeling his heart racing in his chest at the implications laid between them. "For what it's worth, Nev, I'm proud of you, too. For standing your guard and doing what's right."

Neville's face faltered, his jaw clenching. His eyes shone a little when he muttered, "Thanks, Theo. It means a lot that you've stuck by me."

Absently interlacing their fingers, Theo brought Neville's hand to his mouth. "I'm here."

Clearing his throat, Neville went on. "We've got a route into the village; it's complicated but it works well enough for outside access and to get some food in."

Theo's brows flickered with surprise even as he nodded. "Good. I don't think there's very much to report out here. Things are worse, of course, but no news that I've seen."

"About Harry," Neville finished with a reluctant press of his lips.

Swallowing, Theo nodded, eyeing him for a long moment. "Fuck I miss you, Nev."

Despair etched itself in the frown lines on Neville's face and he blew out a breath. "I miss you, too, and I wish you could join us but I know you can't."

Theo wished he could correct him. "Something has to give, yeah?"

"Yeah," Neville echoed, though the word didn't contain an ounce of certainty. Then he added, "It's fucking got to."

Folding his legs beneath him, Theo turned atop the table to face Neville, and took the boy's face into his hands. "You're okay? Truly?" When Neville nodded, he brushed their lips for a moment before pulling back. "You're brilliant, and you're doing a good thing, and you're the bravest fucking person I know. We're going to make it through this."

A grimace flickered across Neville's face but then he chuckled. "Of course we are."

"And," Theo went on, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I can't fucking lose you."

Although his eyes were glassy, Neville released a genuine bark of laughter. "I hate to break it to you, Nott, but you're stuck with me."

His own eyes stung with the warmth of unwanted moisture but Theo nodded. "Good." To ease some of the tension, he added, "Tosser."

"_I'm_ the tosser," Neville mocked.

Waving his hands as if it were obvious, Theo grinned. "Of the two of us—yes."

"Fine," Neville returned, rolling his eyes as he sunk his hands into Theo's hair, "prat." Then he ducked in, lips meeting Theo's, and as a shudder of emotion rolled through him, Theo gave all he could in return before their limited time came to its end.

* * *

The next time Theo saw Neville, it was in the midst of chaos, surrounded by dust and ash and death.

By the time he heard that Harry Potter was in the castle, Theo was on the move, his focus singular: to find Neville. He'd managed to evade the professors as they sought to shepherd him away with the rest of his housemates after Parkinson's outburst, but it had meant retreating from the edge of the Great Hall. He was grateful he wasn't clothed in his full Slytherin robes, to make it easier to blend into the crowds.

But then war had erupted on all sides, students and professors and ghosts clashing with hooded figures, and Theo found himself darting through the flashing of spells, firing stunners at any Death Eater he could spot without regard for any of the rest of it.

His own father was here somewhere, fighting to kill his friends, and Theo couldn't make any sense of it as he ran, fear and adrenaline racing with his lifeblood through his veins, roaring in his ears.

Time slipped from his grasp with increasing desperation as Theo sought to find the one person in the castle who truly understood him, and as the carnage and destruction built around him, he felt the last strings of his hope slipping away like sand through his grasp.

There was a shift—and he heard the voice of his father's master echoing through the castle, stopping dead in an empty, dusty corridor.

A call for Harry Potter to give himself up.

Leaning back against the wall, Theo listened to the message, feeling moisture sting his eyes from the despair of it all. Potter was their last hope, and Theo had long since given up any pretense of his own.

If he was to die here today, he wouldn't do so pretending to be something he wasn't. If this was it, he needed a chance to say goodbye.

It was that thought that spurred him into motion once more, driven by persistence and something he couldn't explain as his feet carried him further into the battle.

* * *

Theo felt stunned, the words hovering just beyond his comprehension as he found himself within a crowd of others, melancholy thick in the air. Harry Potter was _dead_.

As his mind spun with the implications, dread settling into the pit of his stomach, Theo looked up to see Neville step forward to oppose Voldemort. His heart froze in his chest.

"No," he cried under his breath, making to lunge forward, but an arm came up across his chest, holding him back. Theo's eyes slid to meet the glassy ones of another boy—Neville's Ravenclaw friend. Vaguely, Theo's brain registered his name as Michael Corner.

"Dont," Corner hissed, "you'll get yourself killed."

Something like recognition or understanding shone in Corner's stare, and Theo wondered what he knew. Frantically, his eyes darted back to Neville, standing firm against the Dark Lord himself, and he shook his head, gaping, a lump stuck in his throat.

"I can't—" he choked.

Corner's arm retracted but his hand curled atop Theo's shoulder with a squeeze. "I know, Nott."

Hopelessness lingered beneath the words, and as Theo looked back towards Neville, the boy's green stare caught on his. The hot sting of desperate tears pushed at Theo's eyes, even as Neville slowly, subtly shook his head.

Clapping a hand over his mouth, Theo was forced to watch on as Voldemort summoned the Sorting Hat, shoving it onto Neville's head, and a muffled sob broke against his palm.

Corner's grip remained clenched on his shoulder, whether to hold Theo back or to ground them both, he didn't know, but he was grateful for the unquestioning solidarity, terror and misery clawing at his throat as his vision blurred and his knees threatened to give out.

Theo didn't even care if his father could see him. Let the man rot, for the way he treated others.

This couldn't be it—he couldn't lose Neville. The thought clanged, caught on repeat, in the back of Theo's mind, as his world slowed and isolated to the scene playing out before him.

The Sorting Hat burst into flames, and Theo's eyes widened with dread, just before chaos erupted.

Giants and centaurs broke onto the grounds in a cacophony of sound and dust but Theo's eyes were caught on Neville as he rose, wielding a giant silver sword; Theo's mouth fell open, squinting in bewilderment as Neville sheared the head from the great snake curled on the ground.

Voldemort screamed, a wrathful cry, and Hagrid was shouting something about Harry Potter's body—Theo blinked rapidly—as hippogriffs and thestrals took to the skies, clawing at the Death Eaters that flocked to their master's side, even as he retreated back into the castle.

Startled, Theo's brain struggled to catch up until someone collided with him, and without thinking, he coiled his arms around Neville, clutching him as tight as he could manage while relief chased from his lungs.

"You're alive," Neville breathed in his ear, and Theo huffed an exhale, drawing back. "When I hadn't seen you, I thought—"

Shaking his head, Theo snipped, "I suppose I ought to have known you'd be out here trying to get yourself killed," and a hint of exasperation pulled at his mouth.

Neville's lips curled with a smile in return.

A great cry sounded, bringing Theo back to the cold reality that they were still on a battlefield. A thick breath caught in Theo's chest as Neville pulled him towards the castle, towards the uproar, and in that moment all that mattered to him was that he wasn't alone anymore.

They arrived back inside to see Harry Potter, alive and well, in a tense standoff with Voldemort, and Neville released an incredulous laugh as Theo only shook his head, finding himself almost unphased by this most recent surprise.

Folding his arms across his chest, a furrow settled into his brow as Neville slung an arm around his shoulders and the other around Corner's—frozen, the three of them watched.

In a thick, stunned silence, the gathered crowd watched as spells flew—as Voldemort's own death curse rebounded back into him, a man once more, and he crumpled to the ground.

Theo stared, his head spinning, mouth open and a breath held in his chest.

Potter stepped towards his adversary, his chest heaving, and there was something triumphant in his expression.

The room went up in a roar, and Theo felt himself pulled into Neville's arms once more, sheer disbelief giving way to relief, to exhilaration, as he released a cry and a grin spread across his face.

"Nev," he choked, tearing back, "he's fucking—"

"Dead," Neville finished, shaking his head in disbelief, eyes shimmering. "I can't even believe it."

Clutching Neville's shoulder with a reassuring squeeze, Theo felt moisture prickle at his own eyes; for a brief instant they glanced at one another and he breathed, "It's over."

At last, he felt the words settle into his heart.

* * *

It had been three days since the end of the war, and the reality of it all still hadn't quite sunk in. Much of the school laid in ruins, rubble and debris strewn about, and with the casualties that had been sustained, classes had been cancelled for the memorial services. The school year would be cut short, but Theo hadn't learned very much anyways.

Hogwarts had always felt more like home than Nott Manor had, and as Theo gazed upon the wreckage from the lake, he felt his heart clench. Neville came up alongside him, taking Theo's hand into his own, and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Theo said. He could feel Neville's stare lingering on him, and glanced sidelong. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry about your father."

"I'm not," Theo whispered, the words faltering a bit. His father was one of many Death Eaters who hadn't made it through the final surge of fighting. His passing had left Theo heir to the entire estate, and he would have to address all of that upon returning home. Once the shock wore off he would have time to properly process it all—but all he felt at the moment was relief. "He would have sooner killed you than anything else."

"Yeah. Still," Neville said with a bit of a shrug.

Entwining their fingers, Theo said, "I'm glad your gran is doing alright."

A grin spread across Neville's face. "She's tough."

Theo had been surprised to hear Neville's gran had been at Hogwarts for the battle, but had left in the chaos that ensued after Voldemort's demise before Theo had a chance to meet her.

As if reading his thoughts, Neville added, "You'll have to come visit over the summer. Sounds like we won't be sitting our NEWTs until next year."

"Honestly, though," Theo drawled, "did _you_ learn anything this year?"

Neville teased, "That would be a no."

Quietly, they observed the ruins that stretched out as far as Theo could see from their spot on the grounds. "I don't mind. Coming back to do the year right." Wrapping an arm around Neville's shoulders, he planted a kiss into his hair. "With you, properly."

Grinning, Neville mussed a hand in Theo's hair; with a scowl, Theo swatted his hand away.

After a moment, Neville's smile softened and something settled into the space between them that Theo felt implicitly. After everything they'd been through that year, he felt a connection to the man at his side, sure as the rhythmic pulsing in his chest.

Quietly, Neville said, "Sounds brilliant."

And now, the possibilities felt endless.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for reading and for taking a chance on this little story. It's much appreciated! I hope you enjoyed it.

Alpha love to Frumpologist.


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